Cajun Bear Hunt

In October of 1983, my five hunting partners, Walter Comeaux, Larry Darnall, Richard Chappuis, Don & Leah Delesdernier and I arrived at the airport in Cold Bay, Alaska. The wind was blowing as we were told to expect and we were glad to hurry into the terminal. We were met there by Mike Cowen, one of Larry’s guides, who helped us pack our gear into a truck and took us to our base camp. Camp was a Quonset Hut located a short distance from the beach and about 2 miles south of Cold Bay. Larry and the remainder of his guides flew into camp a little while later and tied down the aircraft. The wind was picking up to about 40 knots and it was decided that it was too windy to attempt moving camps that day.

We caught a good nights sleep that night and in the morning Larry started moving the guides, hunters and all of their gear to the various spike camps, located throughout what was to prove to be great bear country. The weather was beautiful on the way to my initial spike camp and I could see numerous bear trails winding through the tundra below. Meandering in and out of thick alder patches on the golden mountainsides, they eventually wound down the mountain and across waving fields of grass to the streams and beaches. On the hills overlooking the ocean I was able to spot numerous bald eagles perched on their lofty lookouts.

As Larry flew, my guide, Dave Leonard, pointed out things of interest along the route and we pitched our first spike camp at the edge of a bay, next to a large valley which was eaten up with bear sign. After Larry was gone and we had our two-man tent set up in the sand dune, we moved up to glass the valley. Though we could not hunt that day, we did manage to spot a bull caribou making his way across the valley.

On the following day we awakened to a cloudy sky and blowing rain. We were limited in visibility by the low hanging clouds, which are typical for this country. Still Dave insisted that we get out and do some glassing. That morning we saw only one caribou and a sow with three cubs, winding their way down the mountain to the beach below. We remained out until our rain gear started to soak through, following which, we returned to camp for an excellent supper and some enjoyable conversation.

The third day was a total loss. The wind was blowing and it was raining so hard that we were forced to stay in the tent all day, so we were well rested when we awoke to a beautiful clear day the following morning. It was about 2 p.m. and we were glassing the valley, when we heard the welcome drone of Larry’s super cub flying down the beach. He landed and suggested that we move camp a little further west, to another beach.

At this point I would like to break into the story to say that Larry Rivers runs a first class operation, with excellent equipment and super guides. Each guide was both amiable and a real pleasure to be with during the duration of this 16 day hunt. Larry Rivers is one of the best pilots and outfitters I’ve had the pleasure of hunting with. Although this was my first hunt in Alaska, I’ve had several other hunts in British Columbia and the Yukon to compare this hunt with. Now back to the hunt.

Dave and I set up our second camp just before night and settled in early, in anticipation of the following days hunt. The next three days we hunted a long expanse of valley, which had numerous alder patches lining its mountainous peaks, and salmon laden streams. We packed about 3 miles each day from our camp to our hunting area. Our first day out we saw 10 bear, one being a beautiful solid black animal in the 8 foot class. He had sauntered out of a thick alder patch bawling. In fact it was the sound he made that led us to his location. While watching him we had a wind shift and amazingly the bear caught our scent at a distance of over ½ mile. It quickly boogied into the nearest dense alder patch. The other 9 bears were all too far away or in too dense of cover to justify a serious stalk, so we returned to camp.

The 6^th day we set up our vigil on the same hillside and at daylight spotted a large bear some distance away coming over a saddle in the mountain. I would have been willing to go for that bear, but he disappeared in the alders before we could plan a stalk. About 10:30 a.m. we spotted another bear making its way from one mountain to another and only about ¾ of a mile away. Dave judged it to be over 9’, so we shucked our packs and started scrambling across the tundra to intercept. As we drew within ¼ mile, the bear bedded down at the edge of a thick patch of alders. We moved very cautiously until we were approximately 200 yards off. At this point, the bear had sat up and was sniffing the air. Suddenly he stood up and headed further uphill. Dave said that we could never catch him and that if I wanted that bear I would have to shoot now. I laid down to get a steady rest. The .375 sprang to life as I squeezed off the first shot. Breaking into a run, the bear cut across the mountain and into a small belt of thick alders. By this time the bear was about 100 yards off and I could see that it would have to cross a 30 yard clearing, before it reached the second and more expansive wider stand. When it broke cover, I was ready. The first shot hit the running bear in the right front paw, the second caught him high in the back. There was no time for further shooting, as the bear disappeared from sight. Dave and I looked at each other, as I wondered how we were going to flush that wounded bear out of such thick alders.

We didn’t have long to wonder. With a loud series of roars and flying alders, the bear made its charge downhill toward us, coming through a small gut in the mountainside. We couldn’t actually see the bear, but we knew he was "hell bent for leather", from the sound of its rage and the shaking and flying alders. I looked at Dave with that look of understanding, which can only be obtained between a hunter and his guide after hunting together for a few days. It would be "Showtime" when the bear broke from the alders. About 20 yards from the edge of the clearing, the bear broke his charge and all we could discern were alders shaking and flying in the air and that unnerving roar. We waited and eventually everything settled down. I had wondered many times how I would react to a bear charge, believe me, when that adrenaline starts pumping and its all on the line, you’re ready to do what has to be done to finish the job.

After another 10 minutes, Dave and I decided we would walk uphill to the small ravine in the alders to see if the bear was, in fact, dead. Before we could do so, another 9 foot bear, this one with three cubs, came out of the first alder patch and crossed the mountain about 50 yards away! They stopped to look at us, then continued their trek into the larger alder patch. After they departed, Dave and I started snaking our way slowly up the mountain to where the wounded bear had disappeared. Dave eased over to the edge of the ravine to have a look. Without any forewarning, the bear stood up on its hind legs and let out a blood-curdling roar. I witnessed Dave eject a live round as he made sure a live round was available, followed by two fast shots into the bear. I was only a few yards behind Dave when all Hell broke loose. My first thought was, "feet don’t fail me now!" The various shots however, had broken the bear down and he could not complete the charge. I finally put him away with a shot to the neck and an insurance round through the shoulder. These animals can really take some punishment. After much celebrating and hand shaking, Dave and I made it back to camp with a beautiful Brown Bear.

Larry moved us again the next day and dropped us on a rock filled strip, not 150 yards long on a drying up lake bed. That night we did a little hiking to see what was available for the following day. We spotted a large caribou herd with 2 very nice bulls in it, a couple of miles from camp on the wrong side of a deep wide creek. Salmon were all over the surface, breaking water continuously. Dave and I came to the grim determination that if we were doing to get to the caribou, we would have to swim. Considering that the water was about 40 degrees, we had plenty to think about that night at camp. The next morning we got up and started out before daylight, our packs containing heavy-duty garbage bags for the crossing. When we approached the river we spotted 5 bear fishing. One was a 10 foot chocolate colored bear, which my good friend Walter Comeaux bagged a few days later. Walter is a 61-year-old surgeon from Lafayette, an avid hunter, and one heck of a gentleman. I wish I could tell the details of Walter’s bear, which he shot running head on at 27 steps, but that’s another story.

After working our way through the bear, we spotted the caribou on the hillside across the river. It was time for our Tarzan act, so we started stripping and jamming our clothes in plastic garbage bags. Dave hit the water first, shrinking as he swam until he reached the other side. After I had thrown the bags across I too dove in and thought my heart would stop. Fortunately for me, I managed to get to the other side.

We stalked to within 50 yards of the smaller bull, as I stood up caribou exploded everywhere. The big bull headed over the edge of the hill and I sprinted to the crest. Suddenly the big bull ran out to challenge the smaller one and I got my first clear shot. At less than 100 yards I leveled that big bull with a shot through the neck. (though it was intended for the shoulder). Now not even the thought of the swim back across the river could dampen my spirits.

As luck would have it, on our way back to camp we saw a huge caribou bull, which would have gone well up in the record book. I thought to myself "what luck, I take a 9 foot bear, then see a 10 foot one the following day. I shoot a good caribou and then see one, which my guide is confident, will make the book". So what the heck. In my opinion, you have to take game when an acceptable specimen is available. Remember that old saying: "The pigs get fat and the hogs get butchered."

We had a fabulous hunt with Larry. Five hunters took five very respectable bear, four nice caribou bull, several ducks and geese, ptarmigan and two trophy porcupine. Larry is an outstanding outfitter and pilot and we had guides who gave their all to see that their hunters were both successful and well taken care of.

Many thanks to Larry and Dave for giving this far away Cajun more than he could have ever expected or imagined in the land of the giant Brown Bear.

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Title: Cajun.htm A hunting story written by a Louisiana Cajun, about his hunting brown bear in Alaska with Alaska Outfitter Larry Rivers.
Description: Cajun.htm A group of Louisiana coon-ass hunters booked an entire hunting camp for fall brown bear and wrote about it. This is a story of Alaskan Hunting from a Cajun point of view.  Hunts were conducted from Larry Rivers’ brown bear camp on the Alaska and these boys can attest to the size these bears really grow to.
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